I know, I know, I'm jumping the gun with this story, but it wouldn't leave my head and I thought I'd upload the first chapter for you guys who follow my other stories. There are slight spoilers to Shadows of the Night, but if you played GTA 5, you know what happens to Johnny. D:

So, I know Terry is a strange choice for a protagonist, but I liked his character in TLaD and refused to kill him and Clay when playing as Trevor. Clay actually did die anyway by wrecking his bike during the chase though. XD

I want to thank my friend CJ for making the cover for me.

First chapter is short and weak, but the next one is longer.

The Outlaw Returns

Chapter 1:

The Ghost

2013

The San Andreas sun burned brightly over the desert terrain as a faded red truck stirred up dust on the back roads of Blaine County. Ahead of it, were two members of the Lost MC fleeing from said truck. Gunfire crackled through the air like thunder from both sides. The dust and dirt made it hard to get a good shot and it didn't help that there were sharp corners they had to take.

Terry Thorpe's heart slammed in his chest as he fled from the madman known as Trevor Philips. Trevor's words were still ringing in his ears. He didn't want to believe what he'd heard. Johnny can't be dead. This was all bullshit! They would make it back to Stab City and Johnny would be waiting for them. They would take out Trevor and those two idiots that hung around him.

More gunfire erupted behind them. Terry's eyes flickered briefly to Clay who also shared the same worried and frightened expression as he did.

The bridge was in sight. They were almost there.

Come on, just a bit further! Terry thought.

Beside him Clay slumped over, his bike wobbled, and his body dropped to the road while his bike skidded off into the grass. Terry looked away before he could witness Trevor's truck run over Clay. A second later Terry felt a white hot pain of a bullet tear through his right shoulder. The force was enough for him to lose balance on his own bike. Time seemed to slow down around him as the tires lost their grip on the dirt and Terry went sailing off his bike.

He hit the road hard, his Wolfsbane landing somewhere in the ditch. His head slammed against the dirt, his left wrist bent at an awkward angle, and he was pretty sure his ribs and right leg were broken. Trevor's tires just barely missed him as he sped past the broken and battered biker. Terry struggled to breathe as the dust waft around him. He turned his head to the right and caught sight of Clay's mangled and twisted body twenty feet away. The bile rose in his throat at the bloody tire marks that started at Clay and ended not too far from the bridge.

Despite the pain, Terry rolled onto his stomach and crawled toward his brother. Everything in him hurt like hell, but he pushed past the pain. Once he finally reached Clay, Terry felt sick at the display before him. The older biker's jaw was slacked and broke with blood trickling out of it. His dark brown eyes were dull and lifeless, looking up at a sky they couldn't see anymore, and his chest was crushed in from the weight of the truck running him over.

He always saw Clay as sort of a father figure. When Terry was a young punk trying to prove himself to the Lost, it was Clay who took him under his wing. It was Clay who looked out for him whenever he screwed up in the early days and Clay was the one who taught Terry how to properly shoot a gun. Now his mentor and best friend was gone.

Terry lost strength and collapsed on the road. He painfully rolled onto his back again and looked up at the clear blue sky. Seconds later, he could hear gunfire from Stab City. As he was losing consciousness, he thought about his life and wondered if it was all worth it in the end.

"Rest in peace, brothers. You are lost, but not forgotten," he whispered.

He closed his eyes and allowed death's cold embrace.

Five Years Later…

The phone came to life at nine am and vibrated across the nightstand, chiming and buzzing until its owner awakened from his slumber. A German Shepard came trotting into the room at the sound of the alarm. He nuzzled and licked his human's face while thumping his tail against the dresser. He panted, blowing hot, disgusting breath towards his human. The man grimaced and buried his face under the blankets.

The dog barked and growled, demanding the man get out of bed. The man rolled over, trying to ignore his canine companion, but the dog refused to be dismissed and jump onto the bed. He continued to lick the man's face and barked when the man hid under the covers. The dog leapt off the bed, clamped his teeth down on the blanket, and yanked it off.

Finally, Terry Thorpe sat up in the bed and glared at the canine. His dog looked up at him with happy, soulful brown eyes and barked again.

"Alright, alright! I'm awake, Dogmeat." He grabbed his phone off the nightstand and checked the time. "No wonder you're having a meltdown."

He swung his legs over the side of the bed, stretched, and yawned. Grabbing a pair of jeans off the floor, he put them on and threw on a black shirt along with his old Lost MC vest. The patch that once read SGT-at-Arms was replaced with Nomad.

He limped into the living-room and opened the sliding glass door, letting the German Shepard run outside. He didn't have a fenced-in yard, but Dogmeat was smart enough to not run very far. He lived out in the middle of nowhere anyway; he didn't have to worry about neighbors bitching about his dog off the leash.

After shutting the door behind Dogmeat, he made his way into the kitchen and checked the calendar. Today marked the five year anniversary he was clean and sober. Whoopee-fucking-do… Terry thought apathetically. There were days when he didn't know why he bothered, but then he'd see Dogmeat and realize that it was worth it. The dog would not have cared either way, but it would be hard to afford dog food if he blew all his money on crystal.

He thought about Johnny and all the brothers he lost in that moment. Ice really fucked them all over. He still couldn't remember how he got addicted in the first place, but he figured it didn't matter anymore. They were supposed to rebuild the Lost for the better and they had until Trevor slowly made things worse for them. Now the Lost wasn't anything anymore. The only chapters left were Los Santos and Broker. Last he heard from an old friend, the Broker chapter was falling apart. Ten years ago, nobody fucked with the Lost, now all that was left were two chapters and a handful of Nomads.

The past was in the past and all other good shit, right? No point in dwelling on things that were out of your control or maybe they were in his control and he just never realized it.

Get over it. We fucked up and paid for it. No point in cryin' about it now.

He placed a cup of instant ramen in the microwave and set it for three minutes. Not exactly the breakfast of champions, but whatever, it would do for now. He poured kibble into Dogmeat's bowl and set it by the dishwasher that was never used. The German Shepard was let in and greedily ate his meal.

Checking the time on his phone, he remembered he was to meet up with a buyer around noon near Los Santos. Even though he was no longer a Sergeant-at-Arms, he still dealt in the illegal weapons trade. He had guns hidden all over his house, too. An M-16 under the couch cushions, a shotgun between the mattresses of his bed, a pistol in the bathroom. Pretty much every location in his house had a gun, but his cellar was where he kept all of his merchandise for sale. When he left the house, his van was loaded down, but the authorities in the area never seemed to care much. One of the few perks of living in a rural area like Cedar Creek, San Andreas.

Even with his reputation as a dangerous, illegal arms dealer, most folks in town were friendly towards him. How they really felt about him, he wasn't sure. Maybe they were only nice to him because they thought he would kill them or maybe they really did like him. He didn't really give a shit. As long as there were crazed rednecks and patriots willing to buy weapons off of him, he was here to stay. Besides, less government influence here put his mind at ease.

After loading his van with the arsenal those guys would need, he was ready to leave. When he stepped out of the garage, he left a bowl of food and water for Dogmeat on the back porch steps. Most dogs couldn't be trusted to be left alone outside, but Dogmeat was no ordinary canine. He gave the dog a pat on the head before walking back to the van.

He slid behind the wheel of the Slamvan he'd owned since his days in Alderney. It took few turns of the key, but the old vehicle finally started. Before he could he put the van in drive, however, a figure wearing a dark gray hoodie slowly rose from behind the driver's seat and pressed a Desert Eagle against Terry's temple.

"Shit," Terry grumbled.

"Show me your hands," the stranger ordered.

He complied and raised his hands. He had to think of something quick or he was fucked.

"You're Terrence Thorpe, right?" the stranger asked.

Terry's eyes flickered to the rearview mirror and narrowed. "Who the fuck is askin'?"

"Do you know who I am?"

"No, I fuckin' don't!"

The stranger chuckled at Terry's answer.

Who the fuck does this asshole think he is?

"It's been a long time, brother."

"Who are you? And don't call me brother." Terry growled.

With one hand, the stranger slowly pulled down his hood, revealing his face. Terry's eyes widened at the sight of a man he believed to be long dead. The man withdrew his gun and waited for Terry to say something.

After a wave of shock passed over him, Terry, sputtered, "Jim, you… you… c-can't be alive! You... you're dead!"

"Yeah, well, I got a lot of explainin' to do, I guess," Jim replied.

"You're goddamn right! So start talkin'."

"Can I at least come in? You never know, they might be recording this conversation. I bet your house is spy-proof." Jim gave a snicker. Like old times, he teased Terry about his paranoia of the government. Terry, on the other hand, did not find the joke to be funny.

After a few moments of debating it over in his head, Terry sighed and agreed to let his old friend in.

As they walked back to the house, Terry's mind and heart were whirling with a mix of emotions that he couldn't grasp at. He wanted to hug Jim and at the same time, punch the asshole for making him believe he was dead for all these years.

Or maybe he was dreaming because none of this shit was real, right?

Fuck, he didn't know anymore.